Dark Side Of The Moon
by Hollywood Grimm
Summary: For long you live and high you fly, But only if you ride the tide, And balanced on the biggest wave, You race towards an early grave. -A gathering of Mysterion one-shots for the angsty at heart.-Formerly titled Breathe.
1. Breathe

**This is just…a one-shot I found myself writing after I saw Mysterion Rises for the first time. Matt and Trey actually made Kenny stand out as a character in the Coon episodes and I found myself almost reduced to tears at some points, simply because…Holy fuck…Kenny is alive. I loved how in the final episode they left everything open to interpretation which—I hope—will lead to some kick ass and imaginative fanfics. Right guys? 8D Anyways I dunno, this isn't a masterpiece or anything…although I still find myself liking it, and I know for a fact that I'll be writing much more angsty Kenny fics in the near future. So take this as you may, and don't forget to review, if I get enough I might add a few more one-shots!**

**~~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Candy, Nirvana~~**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own South Park [sadly] or the song Breathe by Pink Floyd [sadly]**

_Breathe, breathe in the air. _

_Don't be afraid to care. _

_Leave but don't leave me. _

_Look around and choose your own ground. _

_Long you live and high you fly _

_And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry _

_And all you touch and all you see _

_Is all your life will ever be._

So you think immortality is a gift?

Tell me, have you ever died? Not just once. But countless deaths. Have you ever felt the rush of agony as your last breath leaves you? The flash of incredible beauty and horror that crosses your vision as you die…just…one…last…time.

Because I've seen the golden gates of Heaven and the flaming pit of Hell. And maybe worst of all; Purgatory…washed out white walls of apathy, an eternity of waiting.

I cannot die. I walk the fine line between life and death, skirting on the edges of existence but always—_always _coming back. I wake up on my soggy dirt drenched mattress with the filthy blankets around my ankles, my ratty orange parka covering my emaciated frame. My life—if you can even really call it that—is one long chain of continuity…and they don't even _remember. _It's always 'Hey Ken, why'd you bail?' or 'Dude, where'd you go?' or something of the like. What they don't understand—what they can _never _understand—is, I just want to live. This endless darkness, never quite reaching where I need to be, gets so meticulous. It makes every day monotonous and somber…just waiting for some comical incident to strike. I've always been the removable one…what would our town be without me? Would it even really change? Death makes you question it all.

What am I? Am I human? I've breached the path of mortality almost too many times to say I am. So…am I more? And if I am…why am I here? To live these brief moments of a meaningless life that needs meaning…and when I do find some tiny scrap of matter…its all ripped away just as quickly? What twisted higher power would even _dream _of doing that? Why, why, WHY?

Each dawn I know I won't make it to dusk. My will breaks a little more every time. I'm sixteen years old for Christ's sake—and already I've done what no other has—died thousands upon thousands of deaths. And came back. Like some sick Messiah reincarnate.

Those Goth kids make me nauseous. To have a mindset that-that says all living is pain—when really…they don't _know _pain. They watched me get gutted by the leader of the Cult of Cthulu and walked away like it was nothing. My deaths have no impact on the living. So why is it that I return to this plain of being every last time? With the same people? There _has _to be a reason.

Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. Maybe in a past life I was a murder or a psychopath or…Hitler (Wait, that's Cartman) and this is the price I pay. My very essence is this stupid, pointless enigma and I'm getting fucking sick of it. Because, fuck…it hurts.

Why bother falling asleep when I can simply tongue the barrel of a gun and kiss oblivion goodbye instead? Dying never gets any easier either. Every instance pain explodes before my vision in scarlet clots and I'm left thrown to the earth, my eyes wide and unseeing directly into the sun overhead.

Six years. It's been six fucking years since Mintberry Crunch dragged Cthulu back to The Nightmare City of R' lyeh—sometimes I find myself yearning to go back. To feel the cockroach brown tentacles play with my hair and watch an infinity of melting clocks tick away the everlasting seconds of my life.

Am I the Jesus of a far off planet scorned to Earth? A being from the freezing red plains of Mars? The compressed essence of every beautiful person who wasn't meant to die young?

At this point I don't even care. I just know that this is painful. And unfair. And if Kyle can die in a split moment I should too. Sometimes I cut my chest open and hold my heart in my fist, and before my eyes flutter closed I squeeze my last bits of life onto the dirt.

I'm tired.

I'm _fucking _tired.

The shotgun is cool in my palm.

I tongue the barrel.

And fuck oblivion goodbye.

_Run, rabbit run. _

_Dig that hole, forget the sun, _

_And when at last the work is done _

_Don't sit down it's time to dig another one. _

_For long you live and high you fly _

_But only if you ride the tide _

_And balanced on the biggest wave _

_You race towards an early grave._


	2. Time

**So re-watching the Mysterion episodes of South Park I've decided to continue my series of one-shots featuring an angsty teenage Kenny and accompanied by the lyrics from Pink Floyd's epic 'Dark Side Of The Moon'. This was formerly a one-shot titled simply 'Breathe' but I'm changing that. Anyways I hope you enjoy. R&R**

**~~Mick~~!**

**Disclaimer: Neither South Park or Pink Floyd's 'Time' belong to me.**

_Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day _

_You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way. _

_Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town _

_Waiting for someone or something to show you the way. _

_Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain. _

_You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today. _

_And then one day you find ten years have got behind you. _

_No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun._

"I'm tired."

"Everybody gets tired Ken." Kyle Broflovski sighs, fingering a few face-framing ginger red curls. "That's no reason to stay cooped up in your room for days on end. Life goes by so fast dude. Don't let it waste away."

Kenny McCormick's sallow cornflower blue irises meet Kyle's equally striking-but much more livened-green ones. "You don't fucking get it do you." 

"What's there to get Kenny?" Anger flares up in the pit of the other boy's stomach. "You're seventeen years old and what have you become? Nothing, a shallow nobody wallowing knee deep in self-pity. Get over yourself."

The blonde sits up in bed with movement so fluid and robotic it makes Kyle step away uneasily. "I have forever and a day Ky."

"Do you need a fucking therapist?"

Kenny's lips—thick pink rose petals—close around a cigarette. He lights it apathetically and blows smoke obnoxiously in his friend's sparsely freckled face. "Yeah. Maybe I fucking do. And what would it be to you? What would losing me…physically or mentally mean to you? Nothing. I'm a shallow nobody wallowing knee-deep in self pity, remember Kyle?"

"Ken" Flames die in his mossy optics, splashed to ashes by cerulean. "You know I didn't mean it."

Kenny's eyes narrow until he's squinting up at the redhead bitterly. "Then why did you say it in the first place Kyle."

"Because I'm at a fucking loss for words. All you do is sit here, drink bottle upon bottle of vodka and smoke like a chimney. What happened?"

"What happened?" Kenny snorts, throwing back a wave of gold-silk-curtain hair. "What happened is that immortality became a bore."

"Immortality?" Kyle winces for his friends' sanity. "Even if you were immortal Kenny I don't see the big deal. It'd be kinda cool."

"_Cool_?" The blonde narrows his eyes "Dying death upon death is _cool_?And you know what's worse than the pain of dying for the thousandth time?"

"What Kenny." Kyle plays along cynically. "What is worse than dying for the thousandth time?"

"The fact that none of you assholes remember. You've seen me torn and raped and thrown and murdered more times than I can count and here you are thinking I'm insane."

"Yeah? Well maybe that's because you _are_ going insane Kenny, ever thought of that?" Kyle shoots back angrily; the red head never could stand being made out to be stupid.

Kenny only shakes his head mournfully in response. "I'm tired Kyle, I'm so tired." The physically angelic boy pulls something from beneath his bed sheets, something cold and metal and lethal. "Try to remember this time."

And _this time-_as Kyle stands in front of Kenny's dilapidated body, the blonde's brains splattered across his parted lips-_this time _Kyle has a feeling he won't forget.

_So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking _

_Racing around to come up behind you again. _

_The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older, _

_Shorter of breath and one day closer to death. _

_Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time. _

_Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines _

_Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way _

_The time is gone, the song is over, _

_Thought I'd something more to say._


End file.
